He snapped open his large umbrella and covered them all while they waited in silence for his carriage to be brought around. Thankfully, the presence of William and Aunt Margaret had steadied her, and she no longer felt as though she would faint. But the anger soon returned in full force, and she had to fight the need to return to the Assembly Rooms and use her knee to leave an even stronger message with Mr. Harris.
Strands of music reached their ears, so the dance had continued. William helped her and Aunt Margaret into the carriage and climbed in after them.
Amy had begun to shake, and William pulled a woolen blanket from under his seat and handed it to Aunt Margaret, who covered her with it. She felt as though she would never be truly warm again.
I have you to thank for killing him.
“Oh, that horrid, horrid man! He is despicable, contemptible, odious, repugnant—” She turned to Aunt Margaret. “I cannot think of enough wretched words to describe him.”
“Dear, I think you need to calm yourself. Then tell us whatever it was he said that set you off into such a rage.”
Amy drew in a deep breath. “I have never struck anyone in my life.” She rubbed her knuckles, which reminded her of how hard she had hit the man. “I am a lady.” She laid her head on the soft leather squab and closed her eyes. “And now I am ruined.”
* * *
The next afternoon Amy left her room, having been summoned by Papa, who had arrived from London. Her eyes were red from lack of sleep the night before. On the ride home from the Assembly Rooms, she’d told Aunt Margaret and William what Harris had said. It had taken all of Amy and her aunt’s persuasive skills to keep William from returning to the Assembly and adding his own form of displeasure to Mr. Harris’s body.
A hot bath and one of Cook’s tisanes had not relaxed her enough to sleep. She’d tossed and turned and sent word to Aunt at the crack of dawn that she would miss church services. Perhaps it was a coward’s way, but she could not face those at church who had witnessed her fall from grace the night before.
William had said when he left them off after the dance that he would call that afternoon so they could continue their discussion. That was the summons she had been waiting for, and Amy was quite surprised when Lacey said it was Papa awaiting her.
“Good afternoon, Papa.” Amy w
alked into her father’s office next to his bedchamber, where he sat behind his desk. She bent and kissed his cheek. “I assume all is well?”
“As well as it could be with my daughter under suspicion of murder.” He tempered his words with a warm smile. “How are you doing, my dear?”
“Fine.” No point in upsetting Papa with all the information she and William had gained over the past several days or informing him of the nasty Mr. Harris and the right hook she’d delivered to his chin. Fathers tended to dislike knowing their gently reared daughters could hold their own in the boxing ring.
She rounded the large, highly polished cherrywood desk that had been in Papa’s office ever since she could remember and took a seat across from him.
“I have come to Bath to discuss a few things with you.” Papa leaned back in his chair and tapped the armrest with his fingertip. “Please rest assured that I have not abandoned you. All of this could not have happened at a worse time.”
“So you’ve said,” Amy mumbled.
He scowled at her. “However, I’ve been corresponding with the police, and it appears they are at an impasse. What I concluded from their last missive is they are no closer to solving St. Vincent’s murder than they were the night it happened.”
Amy jumped up, too unsettled to sit. “That is because they are not looking at anyone else except me. They are spending all their time digging for proof that I am the guilty party.”
“Sit down, daughter. I agree, which is why I have engaged a private investigator to delve into the matter. Sir Roger Holstein will be contacting you shortly to go over a few items.”
Amy’s eyes widened in horror. Things were going along nicely with her and William conducting their own investigation, since they never stumbled over the detectives, who were searching in the wrong place. If they had an investigator following their footsteps, he would just get in their way.
“Papa, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
His brows rose. “And why is that? To have someone on your side, as it were, is a good thing. He will go places the police have refused to go and find a few people who had a reason to kill Mr. St. Vincent.”
Botheration and blast it! Things had been running rather smoothly, and now another person would arrive to stir the pot. It was bad enough with Aunt Margaret questioning her every move without having some hired nodcock getting in their way. Amy cleared her throat. “Um, perhaps with my background in murders, I can do a bit to help find the true killer.”
Papa hopped up and slammed his hand on the desk, causing Amy to jump a few inches in the chair. “Absolutely not! It is too dangerous for you to be snooping around. Whoever killed your fiancé—”
“Ex-fiancé.”
“—will be quite comfortable as long as the police are only considering you. It would become outright dangerous for you to be involved.” He sat back down and straightened his jacket. “I will hear no more about you entering this foray. And remember, young lady, as much as it distresses me, you are an author of mysteries, and that is a far cry from actually solving a real crime.” He glowered at her. “And it is in your best interests to put that all aside anyway and concentrate instead on getting a husband!” His voice rose on the last four words.
Well, then.
A slight tinge of red covered Papa’s cheeks. “I concede that perhaps Mr. St. Vincent was not the best candidate for a husband, and I regret my part in encouraging you to accept his offer.”